Threaded Mode | Linear Mode

~~Brandon Moore~~ · (01-06-2017)

The Resch Center is buzzing with the XWF action taking place. It's Saturday, January 7, 2017. The New Year has come and people are still dying. It didn't magically stop after 2016 ended. Inside the Resch Center, Brandon Moore has found solace in the back corner of his locker room. There are two chairs. One has Brandon seated in it, already in his wrestling gear, hooded jacket and tights. The other chairs holds his XWF Federweight Championship. Regardless, by the end of the night, he's going to be a champion. That is, unless someone sneaks along and knocks him down a peg, taking his Federweight Championship from him before he can get on the next plane.

Brandon has been sitting in his locker room almost all night. The only time he left was to grab a turkey sandwich from the catering section. In his hand, he holds his new favorite weapon. Brandon's handheld video camera has been doing him wonders. It gives him an outlet to get his point across and he gets to tell Steve Sayors and company to piss off. It will be time for his match against Thomas Nixon and Cain before he knows it.

Therefore, Brandon wants to get some last minute things off of his chest. As always, Brandon unfolds the screen of his video camera so that it is facing him. He's able to see what the camera sees as he holds it pointed towards his face. He takes a deep breath and presses his thumb against the record button. The red light next to the button illuminates and all is ready to go.

-Brandon Moore-
“I've spent the week since the last Savage Saturday Night telling a story. It's been a story about my childhood. It's been a story about my journey into the professional wrestling business. Right now, I'm going to tell you the rest of that story and then I'm going to fight the fight of my life and leave Green Bay, Wisconsin as the XWF Television Champion. I mentioned my father and how he was a drunk bastard. I mentioned the work I put in for the Omaha Wrestling Association as a teenager and how it lead me towards being granted my first ever wrestling match.

Devin Thomas was his name. I was nineteen years old and I had to face the main who just finished having the longest title reign in the company's history. The OWA was a decade old at that point, holding shows in National Guard Armories all throughout Nebraska and Iowa. Well, the night of our match, Devin Thomas was absolutely pissed off. He started the show off bitching and moaning about losing his championship the month before. He wanted a fight and issued an open challenge to anyone in the place.

The owner, my mentor and the man who gave me a roof over my head, 'Gorgeous' Alex Gretzky, pushed me through the curtain and blared some generic hard rock song. He made me accept this guy's challenge. Why wait until the main event or any other time at all? As soon as I went out there, nervous as all hell to accept this fight, the bell rang and it was on. My debut match started the show against one of the hottest talents the Omaha area had ever seen. I beat him. It was a cheap roll up, but I beat him.

Because of that, his title rematch became a triple threat. At the following month's event, what do you know? The main event match, Brandon Moore versus Devin Thomas versus the OWA Champion, Hype Gotti. Twenty-five minutes after the bell ring and I had Devin Thomas' shoulders pinned to the mat. Two matches. Ever. Two fucking wrestling matches to my name and I was a champion. I'll never forgot what Gretzky and the OWA did for me. Without them, I wouldn't be here in the XWF to raise fucking hell on you sorry sons of bitches.”

Brandon reaches towards the chair across from him. He retrieves his Federweight Championship and replaces it with the camera. Brandon pushes the chair back just a bit so the camera can get a decent view of him and his championship belt. He holds it up by the strap, staring intently into the camera. This is the first time he has set it down while filming. Instead of being held to limited movement with the camera in hand, he can express himself in a smorgasbord of ways now. Brandon just needs to invest in a tripod and he'll have the perfect set up.

-Brandon Moore-
“All week long, I've whooped and I've hollered about Thomas Nixon and Cain not being worthy enough to lace my boots. Tonight, there are no shenanigans, no meditation bullshit...just me telling it how it is before I get in that ring for a war. Do the fans and the outside world know what it takes to be a champion? Of course Cain and Thomas Nixon do. Of course I do. This Federweight Championship is nothing to scoff at it, but there are bigger and better things here in the XWF. I must be doing something right because opportunity after opportunity has been pounding at my door.

Last week, I get thrown in the main event against Thomas Nixon and we light Times Square on fire. Cain comes out with literal fire and that leads us to tonight. Another main event and another Television Championship match. There's word going around that I've got a Hart Championship shot on Wednesday Warfare in Antarctica in about a week and a half. What does that tell you? It tells you that the big wigs here in the XWF recognize 'just plain better' when they see it. It seems like I could have my pick at any championship in the whole fucking place.

Right now, though, my focus is on Thomas Nixon and the Television Championship. What does it mean to be a champion, though, Thomas? Surely you know? You've been exemplifying it for weeks now. You've fought and fought until they had no choice but to throw me at you. Then after that, they had no choice but throw me at you again, this time with a little Cain sprinkled on top. You're being challenged in the toughest fucking ways, Thomas. That's what being a champion means.

Being a champion is a struggle to survive. There is always a target on your back. Everyone wants your gold. Newcomers, old mainstays, and even friends that won't admit or don't even realize it. Whether it's the guy in your corner or the guy across the ring staring you down, it's never safe. That's just a tough fact that needs to be accepted. I learned those valuable lessons a long time ago and I'm putting them to the test with this Federweight Championship's twenty-four, seven ruling.

I might talk a lot, but trust me, my bite is way bigger than my bark. I'm not going to sit here and underestimate you guys. We all know that Thomas Nixon is the Television Champion that puts on a show all while still getting the job done. We all know that Cain is a diabolical fucking lunatic with hands the size of frying pans that could crush either of us at any fucking time. But to that, I say congratu-fucking-lations. I've never backed down from a fight and I'm not going to start now.”

Brandon lifts himself from the folding chair to his feet now. The majority of his head is no longer in view of the camera, but it is easy to see that he is making his way towards it. Brandon pauses for a moment to snap the Federweight Championship on around his waist. Once that is completed, he grabs the video camera and focuses it back directly on his face.

-Brandon Moore-
“Let's go for a walk.”

The background behind Brandon starts to change as he starts taking steps forward. He exits his locker room and turns down the corridor in no particular direction. He passes different XWF superstars and staff members without even a hint of acknowledgment towards them.

-Brandon Moore-
“Not just the hallways of the Resch Center, but the hallways of every arena, stadium, and venue we travel to...they hold everything. You'll run into a friend. You'll run into your enemies. You'll see people working the show you've never even met before. Back in these hallways, you could get laid out in an instant. You could shoot some dice and have some fun. It's a topsy turvey world, professional wrestling. Especially here in the XWF. One minute you could be mackin' the ladies of the federation. The next minute, you could have a dick in your ear. It's fucking weird, but I've made myself home here.

Once you head through the curtain and make it to that ring, though, everything changes. It's wide open. You have a purpose. You're out there to say what's on your mind or to let your actions do the talking. At times, you could have friends, but you will always have enemies. That's tonight for you. Thomas Nixon and Cain, you boys are the enemy. I'm going to bring everything I've got to crush the dreams you two have of that Television Championship. I've told you two my story. Now, it's time to add to it. And I'm going to do that by adding a chapter that's titled 'My Time as Television Champion.' Nixon. Cain. I hope you're fucking ready.”

Brandon has now made it to the entrance area. It's almost time for him to enter for his main event match up on Savage Saturday Night. Standard practice occurs now as he presses the record button to stop the filming and folds down the screen on the video camera. Brandon looks around his location for a moment after powering down the handheld device. He notices a young XWF crew member appearing as though he has absolutely nothing to do. Brandon quickly rushes the youngster, coming close to making the kid shit himself. He holds out the video camera and proceeds to give instructions.

-Brandon Moore-
“You fucking take this to my locker room and shove it down in the black duffel bag. Don't fucking open it. Don't fucking play with it. Don't even fucking look at it if you can't help. Just take it and put it away for me. If anything happens to it, I'm going to put a fucking fishhook in your cheek, head out to the ring, and reel you in all the way from back fucking here. Got it?”

The crew member gently removes the camera from Brandon's hand. He nods nervously.

-Brandon Moore-
“Good. Now, I've got a fucking championship to win.”

Threaded Mode \| Linear Mode Championship Caliber
Author	Message